


Many Forms of the Mind

by TheRealDanniX



Series: Adventures in Mind Reading [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Light Angst, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX
Summary: “He would say that you always knew what he needed even before you knew what he was thinking. It didn’t really make sense until I finally got him to tell me about your curse.” She pulled away and pushed herself upright. Shadows fell across her face. “Does it only work with him?” Jaskier nodded, though something nagged at him. Something he couldn’t quite understand. The same way he could place Yennefer’s emotions. “He told me it’s about love.” Cirilla curled up and tucked herself against his side. “I hope somebody will love me like that someday.” Jaskier put his arm around her, pulling her closer and ignoring the pain that went through his back.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Adventures in Mind Reading [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702603
Comments: 25
Kudos: 873
Collections: Just.... So cute...





	Many Forms of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is me giving it to the cries of the people (and my own will to write something soft). I hope y'all enjoy it as much as you guys did the first fic in this universe. 
> 
> Drop a comment or a kudos and let me know what you guys think.
> 
> Bit of Context:  
> Set after the fall of Cintra, Jaskier and Geralt split up for winter and never met up again because Geralt had to find Ciri. The mountain never happened in this because I say it didn’t. (Jask still hates Yenn, who they’ve been avoiding for 3 years (YennxGeralt’s break-up still happened) because Jaskier does not want to know what Geralt will end up thinking in her presence) The mind-reading curse has been in place for about 3 years. Geralt has found Ciri and is looking for his bard. His bard who has been taken by Nilfgard. CW-blood, violence, reference to torture, reference to death (Calanthe's)

Jaskier spit blood out again, glaring at the man in front of him. The man who had been hurting him for months. The bard fixed him with a glare, hoping to look at least a little like Geralt did when he was angry. It didn’t seem to work as he was hit again. “I will ask you one last time Bard, where is the Witcher?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier ground out. His mouth hurt. His throat was worse because of the collar pressing tight enough to leave marks. It was nothing compared to the other wounds and scars that now littered his body. This time a whip snapped across his back at his answer. He barely felt it. The man grabbed him by his chin, dragging him up so their eyes met.

“Then you are of no use to us. Kill….” His words were drowned out by the sound of crashing from outside the stone walls of Jaskier’s cell. He could hear shouts and swords. He stretched his ears and mind towards the sounds and caught something that had his heart beating faster.

_“I will end you.”_ The Witcher’s voice was the most glorious noise in the world, even quiet and far away and not directed at Jaskier. It was enough to make him smile despite the bruising grasp still on his chin.

“On second thought,” Jaskier gasped, pushing the words out past the rough fingers. “I think I do know where he is.” The man let him go, and Jaskier didn’t try to catch himself as he fell backward. “He’s here.” The Witcher’s thoughts were getting closer, though Jaskier knew better than to try and listen to the actual words of the thoughts. During battles, they tended to be a bit much, especially when Jaskier was in danger. The Bard had seen more than his fair share of battlefields, but Geralt had seen many more and he was usually without the softer emotions as he left a trail of blood. The sounds of the battle got closer and the man in front of him drew his sword, turning his back to Jaskier.

_“Please be alive.”_ It came from right outside the door. Jaskier let out a breath of relief. His Witcher was here. He’d survived. He was safe. He heard the door crash open, but it felt distant as his world went black.

The first time he woke up after that, he was on a horse being cradled against the strong chest of the White Wolf. He tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work right and all that came out was some kind of strangled noise. A hum rumbled around him. _“Stay still, Jask. Stay alive.”_ Then the world was gone again.

The next time, he was laid on a bedroll on his side. His eyes saw green eyes staring at him. He could hear someone talking, but the words were lost on him. Her voice was small and quiet. She smiled at him gently as he fell asleep again.

The third time he woke, he was truly awake. At least, he felt like he was. If it wasn’t for the pain radiating through his body, he wouldn’t have believed it. He was resting on a soft bed with sheets that felt like silk. The room is ornate and sunlight streams in through the windows. There’s only one person they know who would live like this. His stomach dropped as the door opened confirming his thoughts. Yennefer of Vengerberg glowered at him with her violet eyes as she swept into the room, unfortunately alone. She was stunning, as usual, wearing a light purple colored dress that was adorned with black lace stitched carefully around the waist. She looked as she always did, but Jaskier could feel something was off. She frowned at him. “I see you’re awake, Bard,” she said. He forced himself into a sitting position, propping himself against the headboard.

“Yennefer,” he said. He would have gone on, but his voice was barely a rasp and his throat hurt.

She sighed at him. “You won’t be singing for a while Bard, but you will sing again. Don’t get worked up about that. It’s harder to keep you alive when you insist on being dramatic. And before you try to ask, your Witcher is here to. I sent him away to keep him from driving me insane. He’s tending to his horse. Now, onto the things I need answers to. You know you are cursed.” Jaskier snorted, nodding, though it hurt to move his neck too much. “Does the Witcher know?” Jaskier nodded again. “Do you want me to remove it?” Jaskier shook his head, which made him dizzy. Yennefer tilted her head, looking at him oddly.

“Stop,” he hissed. It burned his throat.

“You,” she snapped back. The corners of her mouth twitched. “Now hold still while I check your wounds.” She was silent as she moved around him, running cold fingers over bare skin. Everywhere she touched hurt, but it was worse on his back. She let out a ‘hmm’ sounding vaguely like Geralt. When she finally pulled her fingers away, she was looking at him oddly again.

Jaskier forced a smile. “Not too bad, right?” he choked out.

She glared at him. “How long did that have you?”

“When did Geralt find me?” He so hated how his voice sounded.

“About a week ago. Two weeks past midsummer.”

“About six months then.” He let his head fall back against the headboard, not really having enough energy to move more than that.

“Six months and you weren’t already dead?” Her voice sounded wrong, but he couldn’t place the emotion that was twisting it. “Why?”

“Wouldn’t talk,” he managed, barely moving his lips. She snorted.

“I find that hard to believe,” she said. “I’ll tell your Witcher that you’re awake.” Then the door slammed closed and he was left alone for a while. He must have fallen asleep because the shadows were long the next time the door opened. Looking at the doorway, he was shocked to see a young girl with pale hair and green eyes staring at him. He recognized her at once and tried to smile. 

“Hello dear Cirilla,” he managed. It was still raspy and choked. She pressed into the room, closing the door behind her.

“You remember me?” she asked carefully.

Jaskier chuckled, but it turned into a cough and he pushed it down. “Of course.” Words were hard to get out, though his head was so full of them. “I played at the Court in Cintra nearly every year.” His voice trailed off, refusing to work.

“You played at my name day celebration every year until I was ten.” She inched closer to the bed. “You’re Dandelion.” He nodded at her. “But Geralt said your name was Jaskier.” He nodded again. His throat hurt too much to try to explain the ruse he had played on Queen Calanthe. “Does your throat hurt?” She tilted her head and her eyes were wide. Jaskier smiled gently and nodded. He already loved this child so much and he barely knew her. “I can talk enough for both of us then.” She sat at the foot of the bed, still looking hesitant.

“Tell me how he found you,” Jaskier managed. His voice was barely a whisper. Ciri either had been waiting for the question or took pity on him, because she told him how she had escaped Cintra, how she had found and lost Dara, how she had been found by Zola and then Geralt. She told him how they’d been looking for him since then.

“He talked about you a lot,” she said. By this point she had moved to lay across the bed, resting her head in his lap while he ran his fingers through her hair, something that seemed to put her at ease. Jaskier couldn’t really tell you how they had gotten to that point, but he wasn’t complaining. The poor girl seemed like she hadn’t told anyone much of the story before. “As much as he talks, anyway.” Her voice was quiet. “He would say that you always knew what he needed even before you knew what he was thinking. It didn’t really make sense until I finally got him to tell me about your curse.” She pulled away and pushed herself upright. Shadows fell across her face. “Does it only work with him?” Jaskier nodded, though something nagged at him. Something he couldn’t quite understand. The same way he could place Yennefer’s emotions. “He told me it’s about love.” Cirilla curled up and tucked herself against his side. “I hope somebody will love me like that someday.” Jaskier put his arm around her, pulling her closer and ignoring the pain that went through his back.

_“When I find that girl, I’m tying her to a chair so that she’ll learn to listen when I tell her something.”_ Geralt’s thought came with the opening of the door. He stepped in, frowning at the two of them, but his thoughts betrayed him. _“Probably the best place I could have found her.”_ Cirilla bolted up and out of Jaskier’s arm so quickly that he flinched. She didn’t notice as she scrambled off the bed.

“Ciri, I told you to stay downstairs,” Geralt said. He fixed his yellow eyes on her with a gaze that would intimidate most men. Ciri, though, didn’t seem affected by it.

“I just wanted to see him. I didn’t want him to be lonely if he was awake,” she said. She stared right back at Geralt. Jaskier smiled at the pair of them.

_“Her heart is nearly as big as his.”_

“Next time at least tell Yen or me where you’ve gone. She nearly cursed me when she couldn’t find you,” Geralt sighed. She stuck her tongue out at him. He scooped her off the ground and over his shoulder, glancing back at Jaskier.

_“I love you, Songbird. I’ll be back.”_ Then he carried Ciri from the room as she turned into a writhing mess in his firm grip. True to his word, a few minutes late Geralt returned, carrying a bowl of broth rather than a princess. Jaskier raised his eyebrows and smiled sweetly at his beloved. Geralt settled in the place Ciri had vacated holding the broth out to his bard.

“You need to eat,” he said. Jaskier took it, but his hands shook so much that Geralt just took it back and tipped it slowly into his mouth every few minutes. The Witcher’s thoughts were swirling, guilty and relieved and hurting all at once. When the broth was finished and set aside, Jaskier decided he had had enough.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said. His voice sounded better than it had the entire day, soothed by the warm broth. That didn’t mean he could mince his words. “You saved Ciri. Then you saved me.” He leaned his head against the warmth beside him. “I love you so much, my dear Witcher.” His throat was already stinging from too much talking, even though it was less than half of what he wanted to say.

“You shouldn’t be talking. Yen says you need to rest your voice.”

_“I should have been quicker. They had you for months. If I had gotten there sooner, maybe you would be in so much pain.”_ Jaskier slapped his arm slightly, shaking his head.

“Stop that,” the bard whispered. “You saved me.” He turned to his Witcher, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. “Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

_“I love you.”_

It took several weeks of being forced to stay quiet, talking as little as possible for Jaskier to recover. Sometimes, if Yennefer was in a particularly bad mood and Jaskier was having trouble staying quiet (unsurprisingly) she would spell him into silence. His body recovered faster than his voice though and he was playing his lute within a week of waking up. Not long after that, he was able to wander around the house and the stables watching Ciri and Geralt train or Yennefer work on her sorceress stuff. It was hard to not talk, but, whenever she wasn’t training, Ciri kept him company. She would tell him about traveling with Geralt, and her life growing up in Cintra. She had a lovely singing voice too, and she would sing along with his lute when she knew the song.

Only a few days after that discussion, he had woken to her crawling into the bed he now shared with Geralt in the middle of the night, mumbling about nightmares. He had pulled her close and run his fingers through her hair until she fell asleep again. Their Witcher had watched them, with thoughts of adoration flitting through his mind. After that, it was nearly expected to wake to Ciri seeking comfort, and he would always take her in his arms. When he could, he’d hum for her too, quietly. That always earned him a glare from Geralt, but it eased Ciri faster than anything else he could do.

Finally, three and a half weeks after he had found himself at Yennefer’s, she declared him free to use his voice as he wished without risking any damage. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she had been holding back a smile as she said it. That night, he told stories to Ciri and sang quiet lullabies that had her falling asleep in his lap while they were still gathered in Yennefer’s study.

“Sleep here tonight,” Yen muttered, rising from where she had been watching them. “It’s not like you three are sleeping in separate rooms anyways.” She stalked off, rolling her eyes.

Jaskier chuckled. “She seems to be warming up to me,” he said, glancing at Geralt.

_“Not likely.”_  
“Hmm.” The Witcher laid back on the fur rug they were resting on, angling himself as close as he could to Ciri.

“Rude,” Jaskier snapped quietly, but he was smiling. He set his lute aside carefully, curling himself around Ciri like a shield. She fit perfectly between them like she had always been meant for that space. Geralt stretched a large arm out and slipped it under Ciri and Jaskier.

_“Sleep, love.”_ Geralt’s golden eyes were soft as he looked over at his bard. Jaskier smiled broadly.

“I love you too.” Then he let his eyes close, thinking about how much he loved both of them. His family.

Jaskier was the last to wake up. He always was. Ciri and Geralt tended to get up as soon as the sun was up, often leaving him on his own. He pushed himself off the rugs and stretched out, feeling sore. Sleeping on the floor could do that. He’d have to get used to that again when they started out on the road again. He made his way through the house, knowing he was likely to find them outside, training. He wasn’t wrong. The morning light made it looked like their hair was glowing as they traded blows with long branches made to look like blades. Geralt’s thoughts were like a careful script, keeping track of where he was moving and how Ciri was reacting. It was peaceful. At least until he was really awake and paying attention. Along with the constant trail of Geralt’s mind, was Ciri’s voice, dictating herself as she moved, cursing as she misstepped or got hit by the wooden blade. Jaskier forced himself to focus on Ciri, watching her face carefully. Geralt tapped the outside of her thigh with his branch.

_“Damn it,”_ Ciri’s voice said, but her mouth didn’t move. Jaskier bolted back inside the house. He found himself in the kitchen gasping, trying to steady himself. Unfortunately, his sudden disappearance seemed to disrupt their match.

“Jaskier?” Ciri called as she came into the kitchen. Jaskier forced a smile and turned to her. “Are you okay?” She tilted her head and her eyes were full of concern. Yellow eyes joined the green ones fixed on him as Jaskier tried to take a steady breath.

“I’m fine, little cub,” he said. His voice was steady, but it hadn’t worked.

_“He’s lying,”_ Lion and Wolf thought at the same time.

“Jaskier,” Geralt started but stopped suddenly.

_“Not now,”_ Geralt though. Yennefer swept past him as she entered her kitchen. She ignored the Witcher and the Princess, focusing her violet eyes on the Bard.

_“He’s already being weird. What are you doing, Yen?”_ Ciri thought. Jaskier couldn't help smiling a little at that, before frowning at the Mage.

“Well, little Songbird, still want me to leave that curse alone?” Yennefer asked. She smirked at him. He wanted very much to hit her, but he didn’t. He let his eyes flicker to Geralt and Ciri.

_“Yes,”_ Geralt growled in his mind. _“Why would he change his mind?”_

_“Did something happen with his curse?”_ Ciri thought. Her green eyes widened slightly in fear. He fixed his glare on Yennefer.

“You feed off drama, don’t you?” Jaskier snarled. She smirked again.

“Curses are fickle things,” she said sounding sickeningly sweet. “Curses made in a fit of anger are even more temperamental.”

_“Is it hurting him?”_ Geralt frowned.

_“Why is she talking like that?”_ Ciri was frowning too. She forced herself as close to Jaskier as she could without touching him.

“Tell me, Songbird, what were the exact words of your curse?” Yennefer’s eye glinted mischievously. He didn’t need to answer. They both knew exactly what was happening. He could hear the thoughts of his beloved. The mage may have meant lovers when he cast the curse, but that doesn’t mean it was limited to only lovers. After fixing Yennefer with another glare, he dropped to one knee and looked Ciri in the eyes.

_“What’s happening? What’s it got to do with me?”_ Her eyes scanned him like she could find the answer before he spoke.

“Ciri, you remember what Geralt told you about my curse?” Jaskier asked gently.

_“When did she tell him about that?”_ Geralt wondered.

“He told you it was about love. Well, love comes in different forms.”

_“Do you love me?”_ Ciri thought. She bit her lip and looked away. Smart girl. She had figured it out too. Geralt was still confused, but he’d explain later.

“Yes, I do, my little lion cub.” Jaskier smiled at her, not really prepared for the next moment when she threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her head into his. Instinctively he hugged her back, letting one hand disappear into her hair while the other held her close.

_“I don’t mind you in my head.”_

“You say that now,” Jaskier chuckled quietly. He noticed Geralt’s eyes widen slightly.

_“He can hear her thoughts too,”_ Geralt thought.

“I really don’t mind, Jask,” Ciri said. She pulled back just enough to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Yennefer made an annoyed noise, leaving the kitchen again, clearly not getting whatever response she had been looking for. “Don’t mind her. She just wants to be loved too.”

_“Like you love me.”_ Ciri sounded so happy in her head.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Jaskier muttered. He hugged her again before letting her go.

“Are you gonna ask Yen to un-curse you?” Ciri frowned.

_“Please don’t.”_ Once again, Ciri and Geralt had the same thought.

“Not if you don’t want me to. Like I told Geralt when I first got cursed, it’s your head. It’s your privacy that I’m invading. It’s your choice. If you want me to get the curse removed, I will, but if you don’t, then I won’t.” Jaskier smiled at her.

_“It’s always helped me,”_ Geralt thought. The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening a smile.

“Then don’t,” Ciri declared.

_“I don’t mind._ ” Ciri smiled at him. _“Dad said that it made things happier when you traveled together.”_ Jaskier eyed her carefully. She tensed up when she realized why he was looking at her. _“Don’t tell him.”_

“I won’t tell anyone else. I promise. It’s just between you and me.” Jaskier smiled again, trying to keep from looking at Geralt. “But you have to promise me that if it ever bothers you, you’ll tell me.”

“I promise.” She tried to look as serious as she could. Jaskier laughed.

_“You shouldn’t have been so worried, Songbird.”_ Geralt let out a small huff of air. _“Running off like that worried us over nothing.”_

“Come on Ciri. We weren’t done training,” Geralt said.

“You’ll come back outside, right?” Ciri tilted her head.

_“Please?”_ She made her eyes wider, begging like a puppy.

“Of course, little Lion.” Jaskier pushed himself off his knees. He watched as his family made their way back outside, following slowly. As they picked up their wooden blades, the streams of thought formed back into cataloging movements and planning out reactions. Golden eyes glanced around every once in a while, glinting in the sun. When Geralt knocked Ciri to the ground and declared training done, for now, she huffed at him, but Jaskier saw her smile.

_“Dad just wants to spend time with Jask.”_ She smirked. _“My family’s weird.”_


End file.
